


All Roads Lead to Rome

by calrissian18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Gringotts Advisor Draco, Infidelity, Jealousy, M/M, Rentboy Harry, Unbreakable Vow Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We're just a million little gods causing rainstorms - The Arcade Fire, "Wake Up."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Roads Lead to Rome

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the hp_sexstars fest on livejournal. It was a test of sorts for me, not only my first fest - in which I learned I am just as TERRIBLE at budgeting my time for online commitments as I am for real life commitments - but it also forced me to write Harry as the rent!boy, even though I far and away prefer it to be Draco. As this was a fic written to fulfill someone else's prompt, I tried to leave things open-ended wherever I could and let the prompter fill in what they'd like, most obviously with the ending - 99% of people will read this and imagine a happy outcome. I am the other 1%. I try not to inflict that upon my readers (and certainly not on my prompters!) when it isn't strictly necessary.
> 
> My prompt was, if you're curious: "Harry whores himself out and uses unbreakable vows to stop his clients from talking etc. When Pansy hires him for Draco's birthday, Draco doesn't realise that Potter's on the payrole and thinks it's a genuine hook up. Angst, please."

 

There was a scorch mark on his kitchen counter that looked like a Dementor. If Harry tilted his head just right, the slatted light from the window would glint off the surface and make its mouth look like it was widening. Harry placed his mug over it. He wondered how much light it would take before it got so wide it looked like it was swallowing the entire bottom whole.  
  
There was a scuffling sound that floated down from the landing that could mean his punter was gathering his clothes, looting Harry’s bedroom or tidying up. Harry honestly couldn’t care less which one it was.  
  
The steps on the stairs made the teacups on the sideboard rattle. His punter rounded the corner, dressed – once again – to the nines. Had he not been so long in the face, Harry might have called him dashing in his suit and tie. He kicked out with his cane and said with an air of superiority, “You could open your curtains, you know? I nearly broke my neck on your stairs.”  
  
His voice was nasally and Harry watched, fascinated, as he sniffed and pulled at the crisp, white sleeve of his shirt. He hitched the curved head of his cane over his elbow and straightened his tie with both hands while he surveyed Harry’s kitchen as if he was planning its remodeling in his head.  
  
In the ensuing silence of his punter’s woeful suggestion, Mrs. Black made herself known. “FOUL HALF-BLOOD FILTH SULLYING MY HO—”  
  
Her screeching fell off abruptly and a soft, regretful muttering could be heard from the hallway. “Kreacher is sorry, Kreacher begs his Mistress’ forgiveness. Kreacher is not wanting to be shutting her up but Master Harry is saying he must. Master Harry is saying he does not want to hear Mistress. Kreacher’s done wrong, Kreacher must iron his hands and club his feet.”  
  
“Punishment won’t be necessary or accepted, Kreacher,” Harry called loudly from the kitchen, not moving his gaze from the gobsmacked expression of his punter.  
  
Kreacher stopped as he passed by the entrance to the kitchen and stared in at Harry with bright eyes. “Master Harry is too kind, Kreacher does not deserve his benevolence.”  
  
The other man turned away to watch Kreacher’s hunched and ambling walk past the door. “What in the bloody hell was all that?” he squawked when he’d finally regained his tongue and Harry’s gaze.  
  
Harry smiled coolly. “That’s the end of your hour.”  
  
The man’s eyebrows went up. “Yes, well. Money’s on the end table upstairs.”  
  
Harry tapped the table with a forefinger. “Forgetting something?”  
  
A huff greeted the question and more fidgeting in the form of the man adjusting his cuffs followed. “It’s a grotesque way of guarding one’s privacy, you realize?” He cut his eyes away from Harry’s and focused on the steady drip of the faucet, making it all Harry could hear. He cleared his throat. “No one is going to believe that I’ve spent my afternoon with Harry Potter.”  
  
Harry perked a single brow. “Enough stories like that and people will begin to wonder.”  
  
“I suppose,” the man answered grudgingly after sixteen drips of the faucet.  
  
Harry picked up his wand from where it’d been resting on his thigh and held it in a commanding fashion. The man pulled up the sleeve he’d just been so diligently making sure fell at exactly the right length. He strutted over to the table with a raised lip. Harry stood to meet him, clasping the man’s forearm tightly. A reluctant grip decorated his own. Harry placed his wand’s tip where their wrists met. “Will you swear to keep secret the identity of the whore you’ve met with at half twelve on the afternoon of the twentieth of November?”  
  
Both gazes shifted down to watch the magic bloom out of the ragged holly. A pulsating line of deepest red twisted equidistance up their arms and bound them together. The glow got caught in the other man’s light brown eyes and made them flash. “I will.”  
  
The spell hummed and then sank deep beneath their skin, leaving a tingle in its wake.  
  
The man’s face contorted in a frown as if to say ‘now that nasty business is finished with’ while he rolled his sleeve down. A sniff. “An interesting experience all around,” he said, looking down his nose at Harry. Harry only stared blankly back at him. He tightened his grip on the head of his cane, spun artfully on his heel and marched out of Harry’s kitchen.  
  
_Good riddance to puffed-up rubbish_ was all Harry could think as he cast a Warming charm on his tea.  


♕

  
  
Little flurries of leaves rushed past Harry’s open window as he snoozed on the couch. He rolled over and the back of his hand skimmed the hard patch of carpet beneath it.  
  
“Harry!” he heard through a fog. He attempted to wave it away with a diligent hand as though he could whip the judgment out of it and make it a more pleasant voice to wake up to. “Harry,” it came again, pecking at the blanket of sleep behind his eyes.  
  
Harry’s eyes cracked open just as Hermione came into view. “Hullo,” he said in a raspy voice, his arm still tingling ever so slightly.  
  
At some indefinable moment after the War, Hermione had become beautiful. Her frizzy hair had tamed of its own volition, solidifying into tight, sleek curls that stood out stark against her heart-shaped face. Only a year ago, Harry remembered being shocked back when he noticed she had a waist and hips and a bust. He had immediately pictured her as the eleven-year-old know-it-all he had grown to love and tried to overlay that image with the bright and self-possessed woman he saw before him. It hadn’t worked in the slightest. He wondered if he had changed that much in her eyes.  
  
He might still be curious as to where his sometimes socially awkward, bossy and brilliant best friend had got to if he hadn’t caught her in the Ministry bathroom rubbing her sweater vigorously against her head before an interdepartmental meeting. It had been every inch the bushy, frizz-tastic hair she’d had at eleven and when Harry had caught his breath, half-sobbing against the doorframe, he could admit just how much he’d missed it. Hermione had told him off with a scowl but eventually admitted, in a moment of utter seriousness, that she often resented the way she looked as it meant people listened to her about a third as much and about half as well.  
  
And that was a tragedy if Harry had ever heard one.  
  
Hermione’s curls swung forward to graze her cheek as she peered at him, her forehead creased in concern. “Late night?” she asked in a way that wasn’t really a question, her lips pursed tight in disapproval.  
  
Harry had no doubt that Hermione knew, and disapproved of, what he did with his nights and sometimes days and mornings. How she knew was immaterial. She was Hermione, which meant she had been bound to find out eventually. They hadn’t spoken about it and she had never let on in any real way that she had so much as an inkling. But Harry knew because Hermione never let mysteries languish, she solved them because that’s what Hermione did. And, even when that complicated his life, he loved her for it.  
  
He sat up and rubbed away the sleep that had caked itself to his eyelashes. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked benignly, ignoring her insinuating question entirely.  
  
“Just my weekly effort to ensure you don’t starve.” She was smiling now, her brown eyes catching and holding what little light Grimmauld Place had to offer.  
  
Harry popped up on the couch, his stomach growling.  
  
Hermione gave him a knowing look that was trying for stern but her mouth was hitched to the side hiding her amusement. “Just in time I see?”  
  
“Anything from Mrs. Weasley?” Harry asked happily.  
  
“Oh, for the love of—” She rolled her eyes. “I would tell you off for that if she didn’t enable you so tirelessly.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“Yes, yes, she’s made you an entire roast,” Hermione threw over her shoulder as she turned towards the kitchen. “And don’t you let her tell you it’s ‘left over’ either. I watched her cook the whole thing just for you.”  
  
Harry caught up to her and grinned in her face. “I’m too skinny or haven’t you heard?”  
  
“You and Ron, you’re terrors,” Hermione exclaimed in mock-seriousness.  
  
Harry set himself to preparing what promised to be a very heavy lunch and put on the kettle while Hermione sank into her usual seat. “You know, I looked for you upstairs first.” Harry turned to look at her, aghast. Hermione’s chin was resting on her hand and she went on without prompting. “It’s still darker than being sucked up by Devil’s Snare.”  
  
Harry grinned ruefully at the glare on the kettle. “Oh the games Walburga and I play.”  
  
“Perhaps you could just sweet talk her into opening the curtains?”  
  
“Hermione,” Harry pushed up his glasses and clutched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger, “does she seem like a woman that can be sweet talked?”  
  
The squeal of the kettle cut off abruptly as though embarrassed to be making so much noise in the silence. “No,” Hermione answered, stymied.  
  
“The bloke that was just here told me I should open my curtains.” Harry smirked. “Should’ve told him I’ve been trying since the beginning of October.”  
  
“I still feel like if you just asked her…” Hermione began. And that more than anything was what convinced Harry that she knew he was selling himself to strangers. At first she had asked if he thought he’d be seeing the man again, how they’d met, questions a friend would ask when they thought they might be seeing the man you’d brought to bed again. Harry did have to give her credit, and Ron as well, for not batting an eye at the thought that that person might be a man. About six months ago, those questions had dropped off completely and Hermione would smoothly change the subject.  
  
“You’re welcome to it,” Harry told her dryly, sweeping his arm out toward the kitchen door.  
  
“Oh you know how she feels about my—me.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Replace ‘mud’ with ‘half’ and it’s exactly the same way she feels about me.”  
  
Hermione couldn’t really argue that and they drank their tea and chatted about happier topics, like Mrs. Weasley’s insistence that Hermione and Ron get married straight away for their (nonexistent) children’s sake, or what Harry had most recently found while hoeing out Sirius’ bedroom or what presents they intended to spoil Teddy with next. All in all, it was a comfortable way to spend the afternoon. But Hermione still left with the same look she always did, the one that wondered what damage she did by walking away. Harry wanted to grab her hands in his and assure her, ‘none.’ But he didn’t.  
  
Mostly because he wasn’t sure it was true.  


♕

  
  
Harry passed the mustard yellow couch with a look of longing. Despite the fact that he had been sleeping more deeply than he had in ages, he was still well exhausted almost every morning and he found himself sneaking naps whenever possible. Sadly, at the moment, it was not possible. Lee would be waltzing through the Floo in only a few minutes’ time.  
  
Harry sighed and snatched his wand off the counter, casting his strongest _Lumos_ as he trekked up the stygian stairs. That was one good thing that came from the intense amount of rest he’d been getting, his spells were more powerful than ever.  
  
He passed Mrs. Black’s curtained portrait with a scowl. It was a cruel irony that the only curtains he wanted closed were the ones that refused to stay that way. “Doddering old bint,” he muttered darkly as he continued past.  
  
He managed to reach his bedroom, Regulus’ old room, without smacking his nose into anything. He had yet to finish sifting through all of Sirius’ old things and it didn’t feel right to sleep there when it was still ‘Sirius’ room.’ When he finally did cleanse it of his late godfather, he intended to switch rooms with just a few touches of Sirius remaining rather than the onslaught it was now.  
  
His most recent purse was indeed on his bureau, just as his punter had claimed. He pulled out a sack full of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts and shoved his newest acquisition into it, the coins clanging together nicely. Harry held the weight of it in the palm of his hand and he thought that might be the best sort of heaviness in the world, instantly reassuring and exciting.  
  
He had no interest or need for it and yet he couldn’t help the happy sigh that built up in his chest at the feel of a handful of money. Perhaps it was simply because even the smallest coin had been ruthlessly kept from him for his first eleven years so he couldn’t help but appreciate it. Whatever it was, it was automatic and full-bodied. Truthfully, he didn’t even know what to do with it and, if Lee would let him, he’d give it all to his dread-locked friend.  
  
He tied the strings of the pouch around his belt loop and, holding his wand aloft with one hand, he stuck his other out in front of him so it could search through the murky darkness. Harry had learned the hard way that his face should not be primary navigator.  
  
He made it downstairs without breaking his neck, the bag jangling with every step, and he crowed his victory to the still shut-up picture of Sirius’ mum. “Take that, you wrinkled bitch.” Harry wasn’t sure why she didn’t black out the downstairs as well but he suspected it was because when she did see the light of day she liked to, well, see the light of day.  
  
This was only her most recent attack designed to get Harry out of the house and also her most persistent. She had started with having the troll’s leg umbrella stand kick him in the shins every chance it got, then she moved on to having all the faucets in the house burst simultaneously… three times a day. Rooms Harry hadn’t even known existed had flooded completely. After that, Harry’s mattress had tried to eat him and, when that hadn’t worked, she’d sent all the doxies that had been hiding in old boxes and unused rooms after him. And there had been a _lot_ of doxies about. Next was convincing all the portraits of Sirius’ old relatives, his _very_ old relatives, to institute Naked Wednesdays, which still happened weekly. This was followed by having the curtains wrap him up and try to swallow him whole every time he came near. He learned to avoid them quickly so she simply shut them entirely. The miserable old cunt.  
  
“Oi, lad of the night! You here?”  
  
Harry grinned as Lee’s boisterous voice met his ears. “Kitchen,” he boomed back. If he had to narrow down why he was so fond of Lee to one thing, it would be how happy he seemed to be wherever he happened to be. Harry envied him that.  
  
Lee rounded the corner into the kitchen, his face split in a wide smile that made the white of his teeth stand out stark against his dark skin. “Sitting on your arse, are you? We’re going to have to do something about that.” He mimed cracking a whip.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “You seem to have forgotten that you are the least intimidating pimp in all of England, possibly the world.”  
  
Lee held up his hands, grinning. “No, wait. I’ve been working on it.” He reached into his jacket pocket. It was striped bright pink and a deep navy blue with wide lapels. It also had a short cut that stopped just before it reached his waist. Harry really had no idea what went on in Lee’s head sometimes. “I look the part now, yeah?” he asked, an unlit cigar precariously balanced between his lips.  
  
Harry snorted before he could catch it.  
  
Lee looked down at his jacket, his sparkling gold chain that he had cast a _Notice Me_ spell on and the overlarge, gold-rimmed sunglasses hanging off of it, his bottle green trousers and his checkered sliders. “They’re supposed to dress eccentrically,” he half-defended, half-questioned. “I’m thinking of charming my front teeth gold too.”  
  
Harry blinked at him. “Well, to match your chain. Naturally.”  
  
Lee scratched at his chin. He was trying to grow a goatee but so far he had only managed to produce a few short, wily whiskers that would prefer not to associate with one another, thank you very much. “I’ll also need a top hat. I’m thinking lime green, floppy and stuffed with cotton.”  
  
Harry stared up at Lee’s head, picturing the atrocity he described atop it. “I don’t think there’s any need, your dreadlocks are like a headpiece of their own.”  
  
Lee frowned thoughtfully. “Well. I suppose that’s true.” He clapped his hands together. “Forgetting all that, it’s week’s end which means it’s time to divvy up the take.”  
  
“Your lingo’s improved,” Harry noted with a laugh.  
  
Lee puffed out his chest. “I’ve been watching Muggle films on that, ah, vision box we got.”  
  
“Television,” Harry corrected tirelessly.  
  
“Yes, but why _tele_?” he demanded with a studious air. “I get the vision bit. What about Visibox or Boxyvision? I seem to be stuck on those two terms, don’t I?”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes with a smile, half-heartedly adding ‘look up origins of the name television’ to the To Do list that occurred when all his other lists were To Done. It was basically his ‘Never Gonna Happen’ list. “You ask the most asinine questions about the most asinine things. I swear, I feel like you would have fully appreciated hanging about with Hermione Granger in school.”  
  
Lee perked up. “You think she knows?”  
  
“I doubt there’s anything in the world she _doesn’t_ know. I’m betting Hermione’s brain will be running every major government while she sleeps in only a few years’ time.”  
  
“ _That_ I would like to see,” Lee exclaimed, bulleting the point with a jab of his finger.  
  
Harry watched him, a dapper man in about six different mismatching colors, and he couldn’t help but think that Lee could stop campaigning as he had reached his goal of eccentricity a few kilometers back.  
  
Lee pulled out a seat and reached into his pocket a second time, this time pulling out a brown leather date book. “Down to business then,” he said happily, yanking the pen off the spine. It immediately shimmered, the Camouflage charm fading, and transformed into a quill, which Lee promptly chewed on the end of. He flipped to the right page and yammered away, “I’ve got you tomorrow afternoon at _Talon and Scales_ , half eleven, and I scheduled Cale’s weekly for tomorrow night at eight. He’s got you till morning, paid in advance.”  
  
Harry rubbed a hand over his face, planning out the day in his head while he abstractly commented, “Busy day.”  
  
Lee grinned at him. “It’s good to be in demand.”  
  
Cale was an easy few hours. He generally couldn’t get it up more than twice and he was an excellent cook. This other one was a toss up but hopefully it wouldn’t go too long and he could get part of the day to himself. Harry nodded to show he was on board with what Lee had planned.  
  
Lee closed the book, relieved as he always was, despite the fact that Harry had never argued even a single detail with him. “Well then.”  
  
Harry smiled at his transparency and untied the pouch from his belt loop, dropping it in front of Lee. Lee spent the next twenty minutes or so counting up the coins, calculating the split and separating the piles. He pushed the much larger one back towards Harry. He caught his tongue between his teeth with a serious expression. Harry was about to ask after him when he spoke up. “You could even call it ViBo for short, you know, like TV.”  
  
Harry laughed out loud. He swiped at his streaming eyes and finally managed to ask through chuckles, “You’re still on this?”  
  
“I’m just saying, mine makes sense. Tele’s not even a word.” He looked over at Harry uncertainly. “Er, right?”  
  
Harry nodded, still grinning. “So far as I know. It’s probably an abbreviation of a word.”  
  
“Yes, but for what?” Lee asked, an expression of extreme yearning on his face.  
  
“I haven’t the faintest,” Harry said with a plastic grin. “Why does it matter _so_ much?”  
  
“Because I don’t _know_ ,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which just about summed Lee up entirely.  


♕

  
  
Harry woke up late the next morning. It was a consequence of having the curtains closed day in and day out. It left him completely disoriented as to what time it was. He stumbled about on the hardwood, his wand lying on his dresser and lighting the whole room as he struggled into his clothes. He shoved his feet into his trainers while he buttoned his jeans, throwing on the first shirt he could find and shrugging into the same well-used magenta robes he always wore when meeting a punter for the first time.  
  
He Apparated to the _Talon and Scales_ with two minutes to spare. Harry looked down at himself and realized his appearance had taken quite the blow in order to meet the deadline. Cool air rushed across his knee and Harry realized he had managed to grab his jeans with the hole in them. He hadn’t even run a comb through his hair and his mouth still tasted like something had died in it from the night before. He cast a few Freshening and Hygienic charms, face, mouth, hair, clothing and underarms bearing the brunt of his enthusiastic sterilization. Thirty seconds. He hoped his bloke wasn’t the punctual type.  
  
He walked in through the lounge and, after standing in the entrance for a good three minutes and being gawked at, he decided his bloke had likely wandered out to the terrace. Within three seconds of standing on the white cobbles, a stringy arm shot up straight in the air, a large bangle sliding halfway down a tanned forearm.  
  
Harry followed the arm down to the face and blanched. It was a woman. Lee knew he didn’t fuck women. It defeated the purpose entirely to put a woman in his bed. He liked to be controlled, to feel the rough grab of hands on his skin and, more often than not, women couldn’t do that for him.  
  
Harry walked over to the table, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and pulling his robe tight against his legs like a child having a silent tantrum. It wasn’t until he was only a few steps from the table that he realized he recognized her. “Parkinson,” he blurted.  
  
Parkinson inclined her head so her overlarge sunglasses slid down her nose slightly. “Potter, how nice to see you.” She didn’t sound surprised in the slightest. Still, she said, with a tilt of her head and a quirk of her painted lips, “I wasn’t expecting _you_.”  
  
Harry sat down in the chair across from her, not wanting to cause a scene, the metal coming up hard to meet him. “That goes both ways, Parkinson.” Harry snorted. “I’m not interested in fucking women.” Only after it was out of his mouth, did Harry realize what he’d said. He rarely swore and he never did in front of people he hardly knew. It left his mouth prickling like he’d said it in front of a professor and he was awaiting the punishment.  
  
Again, it didn’t seem to faze his companion in the slightest. In fact, Parkinson seemed amused. “Oh dear.” She tutted. “I do hope you’ve let the Weaslette know.” She scratched her long, green nails against the table. “She was quite keen if I remember correctly.”  
  
Harry’s fists clenched inside his robe pockets. “If you’ve only called me here to insult my friends—”  
  
“I hardly knew it was going to be you who showed up so I can’t have called you here just to insult your,” she sneered, “ _friends_.” Her foot wagged as she made her point, the black pump slipping off her heel slightly. “I heard about the crude way you keep your privacy.”  
  
Harry just pursed his lips, barely refraining from crossing his arms over his chest as well. He wasn’t particularly fond of his _system_ either but it had been the only option that had seemed to even somewhat _fit_ , plus it made him He Who Must Not Be Named, which gave him a giggle on a bad day. He had trotted out the idea of Polyjuice and Glamours but they both defeated the purpose. With Polyjuice, he had to be hyperaware of time when all he wanted to do was lose himself in it and Glamours were bound to fail in moments of blinding pleasure. Besides, both of those options implied that, in keeping it secret, there was something to be gained in revealing his identity. He found that being upfront about whom he was made people focus on it a lot less.  
  
Still, there were drawbacks with the vow as well. It was weaker without a bonder, how much weaker Harry didn’t know as no punter had ever set out to test it. There was also the fact that it made the whole thing more like a business transaction than anything else. Whoring was all about the illusion of consent and performing a vow, whose consequence was death if broken, put things firmly back in the real world. Sadly, Harry hadn’t hit upon a better option yet and fucking without any precaution in place let loudmouths and pricks shout that they’d fucked Harry Potter from the rooftops. Which, incidentally, was how Lee had found out about what he did and insisted that he try his hand as a pimp since interning as a Junior Undersecretary in the Department of Magical Transportation was soul-crushing.  
  
He huffed when he realized Parkinson wasn’t going to say any more without prompting. “Regardless, I still don’t sleep with women. I’m not just saying that because…” Well, that would be a rude sentence to finish so instead Harry let it hang there, the implication clear but at least the words weren’t ringing between them. He shifted, accidentally kicking a leg of the table. Merlin, could he be more fucking awkward?  
  
“Unbunch your panties, Potter.” Parkinson gave him a shark-like grin. “I’m not asking you to do anything with a woman.” Harry narrowed his eyes in question, hoping Pansy wasn’t hiding anything up her skirt. He shivered at just the thought. “It’s Draco I want you for,” she said cleanly, stopping the image in his head before it could truly form.  
  
“Malfoy?” Harry repeated rather stupidly. She couldn’t have just said—  
  
“That’s the one.” She smiled brightly. A real one. It actually made her squashed face look attractive.  
  
Harry stared down at the round little table, the surface made of clear glass. The little shrubs lining the terrace wall made the shadows dance across the crystal. He had the brief feeling that he had been sat down in one of those inkblot exams. This certainly felt like a test. He scrunched up his face, still not looking Parkinson in the eye. “What makes you think I’d want to fuck Malfoy?”  
  
Parkinson leaned back in her seat as though she meant to impart bad news. “Well it doesn’t have anything to do with want, does it?” She squinted. “That’s the job after all.”  
  
Right. That was the job. Harry couldn’t help but wonder when the job became fucking Malfoy. “I don’t usually go through a third party.” Harry had no idea what that had to do with anything and it was a rather pointless thing to say altogether. He was probably just stalling the inevitable when it came right down to it.  
  
The inanity of his comment seemed to engage Parkinson once more, if only to keep Harry on topic, and she leaned forward intently. “It’s Draco’s birthday this weekend.” She stabbed at him with her finger. “You’re his gift.”  
  
Harry sank back into his chair and said glumly, “Seems more like coal for Christmas.”  
  
Parkinson’s eyes gleamed with amusement and she pushed her sunglasses back up her nose as though she hadn’t meant him to see her deriving even the slightest enjoyment from this meeting. “You’ll just have to convince him otherwise. What do Gryffindors call it, a blessing in disguise?”  
  
“And if I can’t?” Harry challenged.  
  
Parkinson’s brows rose. “I’m not going to pay a rent boy that doesn’t perform.”  
  
Harry couldn’t argue with the fairness of that. He should just tell her good day and forget this entirely but it felt like a challenge, convincing Draco Malfoy to go to bed with Harry Potter. They could make a whole film about that, Harry thought with a snort. The sane thing to do would be to walk away but Harry had never been known for doing the sane thing. “Where and when should I—”  
  
Parkinson’s teeth glinted in the sun. “Here and now, Potter.” She allowed herself another moment of smug satisfaction at his look of surprise before her expression soured and she bit out, “He’ll be at the bar inside then.” Harry thought he heard her mutter, “Where else would he be,” as he turned to leave.  
  
“Oh, and Potter?” Harry looked back at her, curious despite himself. “Do us a favor and don’t go straight for his dick, yeah? You can manage a little subtlety, can’t you?” Her dark eyes lingered on his scar as though to say she doubted it.  
  
“Seduce him then?”  
  
“Something like that,” she said with a smirk. She added suddenly, “If—If it doesn’t seem to be going your way, remind him that you’re a Gryffindor, yeah? Lying isn’t in your vocabulary.”  
  
Harry stared at her, a million questions about Malfoy springing up in his head at the cryptic comment. He swallowed them all down and set off to win the challenge he’d set for himself. It didn’t matter if Malfoy was _fragile_ or some such crap, what mattered was that Harry got him into bed by the end of the day.  
  
When Harry reentered the lounge, he spotted Malfoy so quickly that he was almost embarrassed he hadn’t seen him the first time around. His hair still shone like a beacon, though the ‘mood’ lighting made it slightly more golden in color. He was indeed sitting in the booth nearest the bar and he was nursing a glass that had some sort of clear liquor inside.  
  
Harry tugged on the sides of his robes, trying to prepare himself. Malfoy was going to be hostile, there was no way of getting around that with their history, all he had to do was stay calm and not rise to the bait. He should also try for charming and witty. Harry deflated. God, this was doomed to fail before it in even began.  
  
As Harry got closer to Malfoy’s table, he was struck by how little the Slytherin had changed. His hair still fell to exactly the same length it had in school, his face was still angular – sharper if anything and he had that same pinched expression on it that said he found everything around him lacking. Harry had the thought that maybe running away would have been the smarter choice.  
  
“Malfoy,” Harry said with a bit of daring.  
  
Malfoy looked up at him, his grey eyes light and blank. When Harry held his ground, they started to pick him apart, darting first up to his hair. They then drifted down to the bent arm of Harry’s glasses, which Harry had tried to fix with magic and had somehow only succeeded in making the angle where it jutted up sharper. Slowly, they fell to note the fray on the elbow of his robes that had come from overuse. Next they curved down to the stretched hem of his shirt, the direct result of one of Teddy’s more Herculean tugs. A speck of judgment made the bottom eyelids creep higher up the irises as they reached the hole in the knee of his jeans that had come thanks to a rusted nail on Sirius’ bedroom floor. They finished on the scuffmark on the dome of his left trainer. Harry wasn’t sure there was anything that had ever made him feel as small as being looked over by Draco Malfoy.  
  
“Potter,” Malfoy said finally and it was no longer the drawl of his youth that had made Harry’s blood surge. It was polished and clean.  
  
Harry gestured to the spot across from Malfoy in the half-circle booth he was in. “Er, is that seat taken?” Harry internally berated himself. There would be no more ‘er’s and ‘ah’s in front of Malfoy, who both looked and spoke like an aristocrat.  
  
Malfoy grinned into his drink. “If this is some postwar Good Feeling Fest, I’ll pass.” When Harry didn’t immediately flee, Malfoy glared up at him. “You can go ahead and tick me off the list though if you like.”  
  
“I still have your wand, you know?” Harry put in, ignoring Malfoy’s comments entirely as he slid into the other side of the booth.  
  
Malfoy’s eyes cut away from him. “Taunting me now, are you?”  
  
“I’d forgotten I had it actually,” Harry admitted.  
  
“Bully for you,” Malfoy said sourly, still not looking at him.  
  
Harry got the feeling he was staking out the exits. And that just wouldn’t do. “What are you drinking? I’ll get you another,” he added quickly when Malfoy’s eyebrows disappeared under his fringe. Surely keeping Malfoy in booze would be enough to keep him around, at least a while longer. Harry was feeling fairly parched himself as he was far too sober to be trying to pick up Malfoy.  
  
Malfoy’s lip raised and he stared down into his almost-gone drink. He seemed disappointed that Harry had figured out the correct question for once. “It’s Dutch gin,” he answered finally.  
  
“Er, all right then.” Harry nodded determinedly before he got up and took the few steps to the bar, berating himself for the ‘er’ as he went. Everything in the lounge was wood-paneled for reasons Harry couldn’t begin to fathom, the floor was an uneven medium brown tile and the booths were a very deep red. Harry didn’t get it but he thought this might be what he would picture if someone said the words ‘man cave.’ He snorted to himself as the bartender returned with his drinks, Malfoy’s Dutch gin and a Bulgari’s Firewhisky for Harry.  
  
As Harry was about to sit, Malfoy said, “Get me a straw, Potter.”  
  
Harry paused with his hands on the table. “A straw?”  
  
“Surely I don’t have to explain what a straw is?”  
  
“Of course I know what a bl—” Harry clenched his jaw and forced a smile. “I’d be happy to get you a straw, Malfoy.” Harry returned a moment later with one of those red coffee stirrer straws.  
  
Malfoy was smiling at him like a cat that had gotten the cream. “Why are you here, Potter?”  
  
Harry shrugged and said with a grimace, “I saw you so I thought I’d come over rather than pretending not to notice you.”  
  
Malfoy leaned back and surveyed him carefully. “All right, I’ll buy that. It sounds like Gryffindor logic at least.” He reached out with his long, pink tongue and curled it around his straw as he sipped his drink. “But why keep at it after I’ve made it clear that I’m not interested in your company, lovely as your attempt was.” Malfoy didn’t even pause to let Harry answer and he seemed more than willing to answer the question himself. “Well, Gryffindors are a bit like a dog with a bone as a group. Censoring yourself though, pushing down your anger when that’s all we have between us – which you must came over here knowing, now that says you have an agenda.”  
  
Harry couldn’t help but be impressed by Malfoy’s reasoning. He smirked. “I suppose it’ll be your game to figure out what mine is.”  
  
Malfoy’s eyebrows bounced. “Can’t I opt out?”  
  
“You can walk away at any time,” Harry said with a sly grin, “but you’ll be forfeiting.”  
  
Malfoy tongued the front of his teeth. “Ah, I see. Appeal to the child in me by making this a challenge.”  
  
“I’m not _making_ it a challenge,” Harry countered, his eyes bright. He silently pictured himself wagging his fists up and down eagerly, knowing Malfoy wouldn’t be able to resist. Harry knew because he couldn’t either, the fact that he was here was proof of that. “What do you do for a living, Malfoy?”  
  
Malfoy pursed his lips but his cheeks were full in amusement. “I work for Gringotts as a financial advisor.” At Harry’s inquiring stare, he went on. “I decide what the bank invests in, which businesses get financed, who receives loans, etcetera. I’m the primary consultant for eight of their branches and secondary for about twice as many.” Malfoy’s tone was smug and Harry couldn’t really fault him for it. That was one hell of an accomplishment for someone without N.E.W.T.s and an ugly tattoo on his arm. “Your turn,” he said, his eyes gleaming as though he expected he’d have Harry figured out in a question or two.  
  
“I dabble in a few different Ministry departments,” Harry answered noncommittally. “I consult for the Aurors on occasion and offer advice to the Minister, I liaise with the magical creatures department every so often. I… help out.”  
  
Malfoy looked entirely unimpressed. “Must be… fulfilling,” he said snottily.  
  
“I didn’t judge yours,” Harry shot back, hating how foolish Malfoy could make him feel.  
  
Malfoy smirked. “Mine was beyond judgment.” Harry’s shoulders slumped even more and Malfoy’s smirk widened into a dark grin. “Have I won it yet?”  
  
Harry snorted. “Hardly.”  
  
Malfoy shook his head. “Potter, really, let’s—We should step away before blood is drawn.” Harry noticed Malfoy’s free hand drift up to scratch at his chest absentmindedly and he winced.  
  
“I’m—This is interesting. It’s good to catch up,” Harry insisted.  
  
Malfoy stared at him like he was thick. “You catch up with people whose lives matter to you. Neither of us is in that situation at the moment.”  
  
“I don’t know.” Harry shrugged. “I’ve wondered.” And that wasn’t even a lie.  
  
Malfoy closed his eyes and let out a deep breath through his nose. He set his glass down calmly. “Listen, you win. I’m not going to sit here and lie about being interested in what you’ve done, all the while thinking up sly, cutting remarks to say.”  
  
What was it Parkinson had said would make him stay? “I’m not asking you to lie about anything, Malfoy,” Harry said quickly before the blond could get out of his seat. “I’m not lying to you.” Harry took a sharp swallow of his whisky. His eyes watered a bit and he said, “You’re not worth the effort really. Lies require a lifetime of maintenance.” Harry shrugged. “The truth hurts less in the long run.”  [*]  
  
Malfoy’s whole body seemed frozen and he looked torn in indecision. He tried for a snarky, “I’ve read your biography, persecuted superman, raised in a box or whatever it is.” When Harry just stared at him with furrowed brows, he said, “What else is there to say?”  
  
Harry smiled softly at him. “Everything really. We’ve known each other fourteen years and we’ve never really _said_ anything in all that time.”  
  
Malfoy gazed back at him and they both seemed to realize how true Harry’s words were in the same moment and, suddenly, it wasn’t a game anymore. Not for either of them. “How am I meant to say anything of real value when I can’t trust the person I’m telling it to?” Malfoy asked and it seemed more for Harry’s benefit than his own, as though he was quizzing Harry on some long forgotten subject matter.  
  
Harry sat in silence for a moment, contemplating. He decided saying anything about Malfoy being able to trust him would sound too trite and leading. He settled on the truth, surprising as it was. “For what it’s worth, I trust you.”  
  
Malfoy’s gaze drifted away, seeming more lost than anything else.  
  
“I’ll start,” Harry put in gently. “Did you know you were the first real wizard I ever met?”  
  
Malfoy looked at him, askance, torn between disbelief and wonder.  
  
Harry, to his amazement, found it was easy to talk to Malfoy and soon he was unloading his entire unhappy past with the Dursleys, clarifying Hogwarts rumors that had sprung up from (very tiny) kernels of truth, even his battles with Mrs. Black made it in there. After a while, Harry couldn’t help but notice that he had done the bulk of the talking. “That trust isn’t reciprocal then?” he said, breath hitching and his face still red from his story about the troll in the bathroom from first year. It was much funnier and much less pants-wettingly terrifying in retrospect.  
  
Malfoy pressed his thumb to the rim of his glass before he caught Harry’s eyes with his own. “That’s not something I’ve ever really done well with. It’s only gotten worse in recent years. You’re—You were right, this is nice but I just—” Malfoy cleared his throat and Harry had no doubt that he was being sincere.  
  
Harry reached across the table for Malfoy’s hand before he could think better of it. “It doesn’t have to be big stuff. It can be anything. Remember, I know nothing.”  
  
Malfoy stared down at his hand before shaking it off gently but firmly and he somehow avoided the obvious insult. Then Malfoy talked, and it wasn’t about big things, but it was about him and Harry found himself completely enthralled. He talked about the people he dealt with at work, he talked about the traveling he got to do, he talked about Hogwarts, he talked about why this was his favorite time of year, he talked about a lot of little things. Harry didn’t tell him that it was the little things that made up the big ones.  
  
“I went and saw the pennant last year. It reminded me of how much I missed playing.” Malfoy turned towards him and the light fell across the side of his face. It made Harry’s mouth go dry. “There just doesn’t seem to be time for it now that I really need the outlet.”  
  
Harry blinked, realizing Malfoy was waiting for a response. “I know what you mean. I think I’d just be disappointed now though. No one ever gave me the competition you did.” Harry watched as Malfoy held his straw aside with his finger and drank the last of his gin. It left his bottom lip glistening and Harry couldn’t stand it anymore. He leaned in to lick away the drops.  
  
Malfoy seemed too shocked to react for a moment but eventually he kick-started his brain into working while Harry pressed light, nearly pressureless kisses to his mouth. He turned his head away with a soft, “No.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Harry said against his neck, not moving away and breathing hard, holding himself just an inch or so away from Malfoy’s cheek.  
  
Malfoy scowled and turned even further away, seeming angry. “Why would you—An hour ago, I hated you. Why do you have to take the one thing I’m certain of and twist it?”  
  
Harry was still panting when he answered softly so his breath tickled the hair on Malfoy’s neck, “There are better things to be certain of.” Harry tried to hold himself still but soon his lips were resting ever so lightly on Malfoy’s jaw. Malfoy’s body was strung tight but he was no longer twisting away and Harry kissed him more firmly just under his ear.  
  
Malfoy looked wild-eyed when he finally groaned, turned and caught Harry’s mouth in his. Harry grabbed his hand and placed it on his cock, which had been hard ever since Malfoy’s leg had brushed his under the table a half hour ago. “I want you,” he breathed, sounding half gone already. Malfoy’s eyes shot open before sliding closed while he palmed Harry’s erection through his jeans.  
  
Their mouths were parting for shorter and shorter periods of time and Malfoy finally pulled away long enough to pant out, “We can’t—We can’t do this here.”  
  
“Fine,” Harry agreed, just as winded, “but I have to have you _now_.” He didn’t point out how those two things seemed to contradict one another. He couldn’t really budge on either, especially the latter. “I-I have a room,” he remembered suddenly, though he was surprised his brain could function at all with Malfoy’s tongue on his neck.  
  
Malfoy pulled away, his tongue taking a detour to the inside of Harry’s ear first, and grinned. “I’ll get the drinks and meet you up there, yeah?”  
  
Harry pulled the key out of his pocket, silently thanking every entity out there for Lee’s obsessive planning ahead. He checked the number on the keychain. “Room 124.” His mouth lingered on Malfoy’s. “Quickly.” He pressed a firmer kiss to Malfoy’s lips. “Quickly. Quickly.”  
  
Malfoy met each press of his mouth eagerly even as his hands pushed at Harry’s shoulders but they couldn’t seem to break apart lest reality set in again. “If you don’t—” Harry finally managed to pant out against Malfoy’s swollen mouth, “get me up to that fucking room—” His hands were grabbing at everything in reach, pulling at Malfoy’s sleek coat, his shirt and pants and hair and skin without any really end in mind except getting Malfoy closer. The only thing in the world that seemed to matter now was getting Malfoy closer. “—I’m going to rip all your fucking clothes off—oh fuck—right fucking here,” Harry choked out while they continued to tear at one another.  
  
Malfoy held his mouth just out of reach, letting Harry lunge for him before he’d disappear again. “Malfoy,” Harry gasped as the blond’s lips skated down his neck. Malfoy leaned down, pushing down on Harry’s chest with his palm before he dragged the ridge of his teeth over Harry’s top lip over and over again. Harry tried to pull him down into a full kiss but Malfoy wouldn’t have it and he finally pulled back and slipped out of the booth before Harry had even sat up.  
  
Harry’s chest was heaving when he finally found himself standing next to Malfoy at the bar. His eyes were bright as he stared into Malfoy’s sweat-shiny face. He leaned up to whisper huskily, pressing his cock into Malfoy’s thigh, “You take too long and I’m liable to come without you. You so much as keep looking at me like that and I’m liable to pop.” Harry wasn’t exaggerating and Malfoy knew it as he felt Harry’s dick throb in time with the quiver of his stomach. Harry stole another kiss and whined, “Hurry,” all the while wondering how this could be so _easy_.  
  
Malfoy pressed his lips harder to Harry’s and breathed out harshly against his cheek. “Fuck, Potter. The room, I’ll—just go.” They were all but devouring one another and Harry didn’t see how he was going to make it up to the room without coming, not with Malfoy’s chest heaving up and down, up and down, and Harry had to have him or he would _die_. “Go, Potter.”  
  
Harry made himself nod and finally managed to disconnect himself from the only thing his body seemed to have any interest in. Malfoy groaned when they finally stopped touching and all Harry could think was that he knew the feeling.  
  
He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing or how he expected to keep his head once he’d finished doing whatever the fuck it was he was doing. All he knew was that he wanted Malfoy in a way that he had never wanted anything or anyone before.  
  
When he finally fell into the room, he all but ripped his own clothing off, tripping himself up on the shoes and socks as he tried to pull his pants off first and it was such an _effort_ not to touch himself. He didn’t think he’d ever been this hard before and he could only hope that Malfoy wouldn’t keep him waiting.  
  
Not even a moment after the thought had formed, Malfoy was bursting into the room. He pressed Harry’s naked body up against the door so quickly that there wasn’t even time to breathe. He slid his lips over Harry’s jaw and whispered harshly against his mouth, “Don’t you dare make me regret this.” He teased him again, holding his mouth just out of reach, darting away twice before he finally closed the distance and took Harry’s mouth in his. Likely because Harry was making noises of such frustration and longing that Malfoy felt bad for him. Harry knew he would have been utterly mortified had he known he was making them.  
  
Harry thought he might have found a new addiction in kissing Malfoy. The blond’s mouth was mobile and pliant and every time Harry shoved his tongue down Malfoy’s throat, it was as though he intended to dig his way inside and live there forever. Malfoy pulled away, breathing heavily, his grey eyes falling on Harry greedily before Harry started to encourage him out of his own coat and trousers.  
  
Malfoy was only half out of his clothes, he still had one shoe and his boxers on but he couldn’t seem to wait any more than Harry could. He covered Harry’s body with his own and kissed him as though he meant to suck Harry’s tongue right out of his head.  
  
Harry was positively aching with the need to come and when Malfoy’s leg slipped between his thighs and pressed against his cock, he was done for. He let out a string of expletives and then he was pulling Malfoy’s pants down, dropping to his knees and sucking that perfect pink cock into his mouth as though it was made for nothing else.  
  
“Potter, fuck,” Malfoy puffed out, saying both words like curses. There were tears in his eyes when he finally exploded in Harry’s mouth. Malfoy collapsed onto the edge of the bed. After a dazed moment, he took off his remaining shoe and sock before dropping his head into his hands. “What the fuck is wrong with us?”  
  
Harry wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or not. He _was_ sure that he didn’t have an answer as he’d been wondering the same thing.  
  
Malfoy blinked down at him from the bed and Harry realized he was still on his knees. “We went at each other like we were carrying a fucking century of sexual tension on our backs.” He shook his head once, his mouth parted invitingly. “I swear I wasn’t.” He laughed a little breathlessly.  
  
Harry got up and sat on the bed next to him, licking his top lip and watching Malfoy’s eyes follow the movement. “I wasn’t either. I had no idea I—”  
  
“That we’d attack each other like wild animals?” Malfoy held up two fingers and huffed out something like a laugh. “That makes two of us.” Malfoy pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead and fell back on the bed, awe and disbelief written all over his face.  
  
Harry watched him for a moment before running his hands over Malfoy’s bare chest. He licked one of the blond’s nipples while Malfoy threw his head back with a groan. “I want you again,” Harry mouthed against his skin. Harry’s cock hadn’t quite got there yet but he knew it wouldn’t be long.  
  
Malfoy climbed off the mattress, pulled off his pants completely, knelt down and licked a long stripe up Harry’s still-soft dick. It went from limp to halfway there in a matter of seconds. Harry never would have been able to imagine it, Malfoy sucking cock? It seemed like the antithesis of everything Malfoy prided himself on. Harry was forced to reevaluate however, which he did happily, when Malfoy sucked the head of his cock into his talented mouth.  
  
Harry threw one arm over his face to hide the way his eyes were tearing up in pleasure. He used the other to grab onto Malfoy’s sweaty locks. “Malfoy, God, fuck, how can this feel so bloody brilliant?” His voice was caught somewhere between a warble and a scream as Malfoy chose that exact moment to start tonguing his slit. “Don’t stop, holy fucking Merlin, don’t ever stop,” Harry cried, fucking Malfoy’s face with abandon.  
  
Malfoy’s hand crept down to touch his sac and Harry couldn’t quite believe how quickly he came. Again. He pulled Malfoy up by his hair and he said through crushing kisses, “How are you doing this to me?”  
  
Malfoy let his hips rest against Harry’s, the evidence of his renewed arousal like a brand. “I could say the same to you.”  
  
Harry stretched his legs wider, gripping Malfoy hard by the back of his neck and huffing into his face, “You have to fuck me. You have to fuck me _now_.”  
  
Malfoy’s pupils exploded at the statement and Harry whimpered as his abused cock tried to make its approval known. “Wand,” Malfoy growled finally, biting at a wayward tuft of Harry’s hair. Harry held out his hand and his wand came flying into it. Harry stared at it in disbelief while Malfoy’s eyes widened in shock. “How the fuck did you—”  
  
“I don’t know,” Harry answered in equal confusion. He tightened his thighs on Malfoy’s hips, “And I don’t care. Fuck me, Malfoy. _Please_.”  
  
Malfoy looked absolutely feral in his excitement and soon he was reaching down with slick fingers and pressing into Harry’s entrance. “Turn over,” Malfoy grunted.  
  
Harry didn’t hesitate though he couldn’t help but whine at the loss of Malfoy’s fingers. Soon they were back and Harry was humping the mattress in his desperation to come a third time in scarcely a half hour. “Fuck me, Malfoy,” Harry pleaded, his hole begging for more. “Please, fuck, I’m ready. Please.”  
  
Malfoy pushed Harry’s arse back down on the bed after Harry had raised it up in silent plea. Malfoy’s fingers were yanked out of him and then something new was being pressed to his entrance. “Oh my fucking—you’ve got to fucking kidding me,” Harry cried as Malfoy’s tongue swiped over his hole. “Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy.”  
  
Malfoy’s tongue teased his entrance, rolling around the edges and licking at him in long swipes before it finally sank inside him while tears of pleasure streamed down Harry’s face. He couldn’t help but be mortified at the wanton way Malfoy was literally eating him out, as well as at the way he was shoving his arse back into Malfoy’s face for more, but nothing— _nothing_ —had ever felt so good. He’d been rimmed before but never like this, never so vigorously or in a way that felt so sincere.  
  
“Oh fuck, Malfoy,” Harry whined as his orgasm took him by complete surprise. He bucked into Malfoy’s face, the blond keeping on until long after the aftershocks had faded.  
  
Harry grabbed Malfoy’s wrist as he started to move away and guided those long fingers to his hip. “You have to fuck me.”  
  
Malfoy rubbed his hard cock up and down Harry’s debauched crack. “Are you sure?” he managed gruffly.  
  
“Merlin, yes,” Harry rasped. “I’ve never wanted anything so much.”  
  
When Malfoy finally breached him, Harry wanted to weep at the absolute joy of it. Malfoy fucked him in nice, long strokes that had Harry moaning and scrabbling at the sheets as he begged for more. He pushed back into the blond, flexed his hips around his cock and did everything he could to bring him to a screaming orgasm.  
  
He wasn’t disappointed.  
  
Malfoy collapsed on top of him for a long moment and Harry felt utterly content to lie beneath him until the end of time. His green eyes snapped open in horrifying realization as the thought centered. He knew reality would crash back in at some point but he hadn’t expected it to be so abrupt or so jarring.  
  
Malfoy rolled away after letting his lips drag against Harry’s sweaty shoulder. Harry stayed utterly still, shock still rolling off of him in waves. He propped himself up on his elbows but, as he looked at Malfoy’s pale back, the storm inside him calmed and he allowed himself to look his fill.  
  
He found himself staring at Malfoy’s ankle. It seemed stupid to focus on something so small when the expanse of Malfoy’s back was looming in his periphery, his shoulder blades like mountainous landscape that yearned to be conquered. But there was something about the way his shins smoothed down into his ankles that spoke to Harry, that said, _this is real, this is perfection, you lucky bastard_.  
  
“You’ve a tight grip.”  
  
Harry blinked up at Malfoy. His voice had come out muffled by the pillow and it seemed that in his exhausted state, he could do nothing to alter the snobby drawl he’d refined at sixteen. Harry was surprised to find he’d missed it. Only slightly but it was enough that he’d been wondering where it’d gone in the lounge. He let his gaze wander down to the sheet twisted around Malfoy’s torso and he realized, that at some point, he had reached out a hand and wrapped it around this part of Malfoy that he was so taken by.  
  
He released his grasp of it gingerly. “Sorry,” he muttered. He fetched his glasses off the bedside table, wanting to hide the embarrassment creeping into his eyes.  
  
Malfoy lifted his head up and offered him a hazy sort of smile, as though he wasn’t sure it would be welcome. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”  
  
Harry pressed a kiss to Malfoy’s hesitant mouth, loving the way Malfoy’s lips immediately answered his. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel this _right_. He pulled away and looked at Malfoy’s elbow. He liked the jut of it. “I should go.”  
  
He couldn’t look back up at Malfoy and when the blond finally spoke his voice was guarded and stiff, “I’m not keeping you here, Potter.”  
  
“Right,” Harry said, not moving because there wasn’t a single muscle in his body that wanted to.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watched the shape of something vaguely Malfoy-sized move just a little farther away. When Harry finally looked at him, it was to find that Malfoy had rolled over on his side and was no longer facing him. Harry wanted to reach out and smooth his fingers over Malfoy’s back but that way lay madness.  
  
Swallowing down his brain’s protests, Harry climbed out of bed and started gathering his clothes. He dressed in silence, only the quiet sound of Malfoy’s steady breaths reminding him that he wasn’t alone. He thought about saying something at the door but there was nothing that could sum up all that he felt and anything less would sound insincere.  
  
He turned the handle and paused, realizing suddenly that he was waiting for Malfoy to say something that would make him stop. Malfoy never did and Harry walked the whole way down to the lobby wondering if it would have made any difference anyway.  


♕

  
  
Harry felt like he’d left his brain up in that room with Malfoy, it would certainly explain why he could focus on nothing but the smell and taste and feel of him. “Harry,” Cale groaned into his ear but Harry barely heard him. It was Malfoy’s long fingers he wanted wrapped around his biceps and his harsh grunt of, ‘Potter,’ rasped out against his neck.  
  
He shook his head. This was madness. Malfoy had obviously done something to him, slipped him a Lust filter or an Infatuation draught. He hadn’t even remembered to secure an Unbreakable Vow from him, or Parkinson. He had lost his head completely. He was a whore, his entire purpose was meant as a transitory one.  
  
He had to stop analyzing this. Even if it _had_ meant anything to Malfoy, it likely would have lost any significance by now. After all, Parkinson was bound to have told him that Harry was a paid participant. Though he would have gladly paid Malfoy for the privilege.  
  
And he did not just think that.  


♕

  
  
Harry walked around in a fog. One night with Malfoy and suddenly the only outlet he had had been tainted. He wanted the enjoyment and the thrill of it back but Malfoy had sucked it out of him like his own personal Dementor. He was passing by Fortescue’s when a ray of light burst through his haze.  
  
“Malfoy,” Harry blurted, feeling giddy.  
  
Malfoy shook out his _Prophet_ and, for a moment, Harry thought he would pretend not to notice him. Finally, he ran his tongue over the front of his teeth and spat with all the venom of his sixteen-year-old-counterpart, “Potter.”  
  
Harry blinked. He hitched a somewhat painful smile onto his face and slid into the seat across from Malfoy. The blond scowled at him. “We’re not going back to the despising each other bit, are we?” he tried, his grin wobbling slightly.  
  
Malfoy sniffed and hid more firmly behind his paper. “I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t,” he retorted coolly.  
  
Harry tapped his fingers on the table. Had Parkinson not told him? Was Malfoy being so icy towards him because of the way Harry had practically run out on him? Or had she already spilled the beans and Malfoy was upset because Harry had, seemingly, lied about his willingness? Harry bit his lip and attempted a light-hearted smile. “It’s a bit childish, isn’t it?”  
  
“We never really got to be children. Why shouldn’t we cling to this one bit of immaturity we ever really got to experience?” he said with a superior jut of his chin, seemingly just to be argumentative.  
  
Harry floundered for a moment before shrugging and admitting, “I don’t hate you, Malfoy.” Malfoy just stared at him, his paper lowering unconsciously so he could look at Harry properly. Harry’s eyes brightened. “It’s not a role that fits anymore.”  
  
Malfoy’s mouth turned down in a frown.  
  
Harry leaned across the table and implored, “Come for a walk with me.”  
  
Malfoy’s brow perked. “A walk?” he repeated skeptically.  
  
“Yeah, you great prat, a walk,” Harry said with a laugh.  
  
Malfoy’s throat convulsed and he asked quietly, his grey eyes downcast, “Will this walk end with you leaving me somewhere, feeling like I’ve done something wrong?”  
  
Harry tilted his head to the side to catch Malfoy’s eyes, feeling like the world’s worst bastard. “Never again,” he said and he meant it.  
  
Malfoy cleared his throat and immediately regained his usual swagger. “Well then, I suppose a walk wouldn’t kill me.” He gave Harry a questionable sideways glance as he stood. “Though one with you…”  
  
“You’re an arse.”  
  
Harry took him down the same path he’d used to walk with Ginny when the War was over and she was pressuring him to restart things. Despite the tension between them, the walk had always instilled a sense of calm in Harry. The lane was lined with fallen orange and red leaves, leaving the trees looking mostly like bundled kindling.  
  
It was nice and not too cool and Malfoy didn’t seem to mind his company, which made Harry feel dizzy.  
  
“What have you been doing then?” Malfoy asked, every other step they took making their coats just barely brush.  
  
“I’ve been helping the Aurors with the Brewer case,” Harry answered, hoping this would be interesting enough to keep Malfoy’s attention on him. “He’s using some crap emotional disturbance maneuver at his trial. Something about the pain of the Dark Mark being burned into him driving him mad or some such rubbish.”  
  
Malfoy stiffened and, after a long moment, said, “It certainly is an… altering experience.”  
  
Harry snorted. “You would know.” Malfoy froze and, after walking a few steps alone, Harry realized what he’d said. “I didn’t mean—I wasn’t trying to—It’s a simple statement of fact,” he said finally, thrusting his chin out defiantly.  
  
“I didn’t say anything,” Malfoy told him softly, looking torn between amusement and a guarded pain.  
  
“Might as well have,” Harry muttered after they had fallen into step with one another again. The leaves swirled as a sharp gust of wind rushed past their knees. Malfoy’s loafers fell heavy against the pavement and made a little clicking sound that reminded Harry of the flick of a lighter. “Everything comes out so wrong with you,” Harry burst out in the thick silence, grumbling after he’d calmed somewhat, “Why is it so hard to talk to you?”  
  
Malfoy didn’t even hesitate. “Because your words hold more weight with me.”  
  
Harry’s immediate thought was to reject the idea altogether but he realized, to his great surprise, that it was true. And not just because he and Malfoy had slept together. It had been true of them almost from the moment they met.  
  
Malfoy seemed to guess his thoughts and he gave Harry a knowing half-smile. “Strange, that.”  
  
Harry huffed out an understanding breath. “Yeah,” he said with a bit of wonder.  
  
When they passed _Tabby’s Café_ , Harry suggested stopping in for a cuppa and the daily special and Malfoy agreed with an enigmatic smile that Harry hoped meant he was pleased. Harry warmed his hands around his tea and clenched his jaw. “They all have this plan sketched out for me. All I’ve ever wanted to do is defy it.” He was tempted to tell Malfoy exactly how far he’d gone in defying it but his cowardice got the better of him.  
  
Malfoy watched him carefully, the line of his shoulders eventually falling in disappointment. He sighed and looked away at the clock at the front of the shop. “A bitter hero,” he said sourly, rolling his eyes. “How original.”  
  
Harry shifted around in his seat and spat, “Sorry I’m not more fascinating, Malfoy.” Though, in truth, he was.  
  
Malfoy took a sip of his tea and smiled. “So am I. I suppose I’ll have to find another date.” His eyes crinkled and flicked to the corner. “What do you think of the bloke with the bowler? I like the throwback to Fudge.” He scrunched his nose. “Makes me feel feisty.”  
  
Harry laughed outright, picturing the undoubtedly Muggle man, a horrid toupee on his head and a bulbous nose splat in the middle of his face, with Malfoy. “I think that’s his wife with him,” Harry pointed out.  
  
Malfoy frowned, considering. “He doesn’t look dreadfully happy. I bet I could steal him away.”  
  
Harry didn’t doubt that for a moment. He placed his hand over Malfoy’s lightly. “I know a bloke you wouldn’t have to make such an effort for.”  
  
Malfoy stared down at the place where Harry’s rough fingers covered his, dark skin blotching his light. He smirked and looked up at Harry with mischief in his eyes. “I _should_ conserve my energy.”  
  
It was different, sleeping with Malfoy in the dark. Or maybe it was sleeping with Malfoy in the dark after whiling away a pleasant day with him. It made Harry feel like they were a couple, a real couple that worried about what films to see together and meeting one another’s parents.  
  
Harry hadn’t tried to fool himself into thinking that that kind of thing was even a possibility for him, not after dying and coming back like some kind of kitschy magic trick. The best he could hope for was to meet men who could fuck hard enough and well enough that he could forget about the numbness inside of him for a moment.  
  
At least, that’s what he’d thought.  
  
Harry rolled over, his eyes cracking open dully. “Malfoy,” he gurgled, still half-asleep as he reached for his glasses from where they sat on Malfoy’s bedside table. He shoved them onto his face while his hand searched out the cool sheets next to him. He blinked into the darkness until he spotted Malfoy’s sharp profile cut out against the dark blue of the sky. He was leaning against his balcony, his hip resting against the stone and his body facing Harry.  
  
Harry wrapped a sheet around his shoulders, moving groggily as he climbed out of bed. “You’ve got that down, Malfoy, the broody staring out the window,” Harry told him, his shoulders hunched up under the fabric and his toes flexing on the hardwood. “Well, balcony,” he corrected carelessly. “I could almost believe you were contemplating all the world’s ills.”  
  
Malfoy’s lips quirked very slightly. “Maybe I am,” he said in a far off tone of voice, his gaze grazing the neighboring rooftops.  
  
Harry’s mouth pursed. “I figure you must be with a look of such sadness on your face. The alternative is just too depressing.”  
  
“It’s not sadness, just…” Malfoy’s voice was still distant and he was diligently not looking at Harry.  
  
“Yeah?” Harry prompted, catching a shiver.  
  
Malfoy’s shoulders shrugged and it was an elegant movement rather than the awkward one Harry always managed. “Too many emotions to name just one.”  
  
Harry gave a cringing smile and shifted on his feet, the hardwood floor pressing hard against his heels. “You’ve got to give me something here.”  
  
Malfoy smiled like he was remembering something else. “Confusion and joy and fear and anxiety and contentment,” he watched Harry with unseeing eyes and his smile widened as he tacked on, “and whimsy.”  
  
Harry grinned back at him. “I know a couple of those that you can toss aside.”  
  
Malfoy shook his head slightly. “Sorry, I think it’s all part and parcel.”  
  
Harry swallowed and gripped at the sheet with stiff fingers. “I’ll take it, whimsy and all.”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes whipped back up to meet his and, he seemed to take a moment to decide, before he walked over to Harry, pushing the sheet off his shoulders and pressing a light kiss to the underside of his jaw. He whispered something that sounded like, “Hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Potter,” before he took Harry back to bed.  


♕

  
  
Harry was just returning from Malfoy’s when the Floo flared and Lee waltzed out of it. Oh Merlin, he had gotten the hat. He tapped the top of it and grinned. “Well, what do you think?”  
  
Harry gave a cringing sort of smile. “It’s… exactly as you described it.”  
  
Lee nodded happily. “I Transfigured it while I was looking over the books. I feel like it completes the look.”  
  
“It certainly completes something.” _Like your success in your bid for insanity_ , Harry thought lightly, his eyebrows creeping higher up his forehead.  
  
Lee waved him off. “So, how’d the week go? You never told me who ended up your date at the _Talon and Scales_.”  
  
Harry sat down at his kitchen counter and wondered how wise it was to admit the truth to Lee. “It was Malfoy.”  
  
Lee choked on his own spit and threw his hand down on the table with a loud smack. “Malfoy? _Draco_ Malfoy paid you for sex?”  
  
Harry nodded slowly.  
  
Lee gave a breathless sort of chuckle. “That’s one for the record books.”  
  
“The thing is…” Harry chewed the inside of his cheek.  
  
Lee reared back. “What is the thing, Harry?”  
  
Harry took a deep breath. “The thing is that it was… brilliant. I’ve just come from seeing him a second time and we’ve agreed to continue… whatever this is.” Harry grinned so wide that his eyes crinkled. “He’s perfect, Lee.”  
  
Lee did nothing to hide his surprise.  


♕

  
  
Malfoy was set to visit the Gringotts’ branch in Austria the next day for a possible complete financial overhaul and he could be gone anywhere from three days to three months. He’d only found out that afternoon and he’d taken the rest of the day to spend it with Harry. Harry had blown off the Aurors and taken him to Launé park. It was just this side of too chilly for that many other people to be about and Harry had pulled him down beneath one of the trees so they could watch the whipped cream clouds loaf across the sky.  
  
He was trying to be upbeat but he’d been frowning since Malfoy had broken the news. He was miserable and, at the same time, surprised by exactly _how_ miserable he was.  
  
The last leaf of their tree floated down and landed squarely center between Harry’s eyebrows. Harry scowled up at it, crossing his eyes to try to glare at it as well. He removed one of the hands from under his head and went to brush it away when Malfoy stopped him.  
  
“Don’t,” he commanded softly, holding Harry’s hand in his.  
  
The brackets around Harry’s mouth twitched. “Let me guess, you like it where it is?”  
  
“That,” Malfoy conceded with a grin, “and it’s lucky.” He plucked it off Harry’s forehead and leaned down to press his mouth to Harry’s newly revealed scar.  
  
Harry stared at the smile that spread across Malfoy’s face. It was still so novel to him that he could go from wanting to see Malfoy’s face red with anger to wanting to see his cheeks full in happiness in such a short period of time. He shook the thought off and answered Malfoy’s grin with one of his own. “What’s lucky?”  
  
“The last leaf of a tree,” Malfoy explained, twirling the stem of Harry’s luck between his thumb and forefinger. “It means a new beginning for the person it touches.” Harry took the leaf from Malfoy’s hand and thought glumly, _if only_.  
  
They went back to _Tabby’s Café_ before sneaking into a theater that was undergoing renovations and fooling about on the empty stage, they got dinner at an Italian bistro and then Malfoy walked Harry home. It had been a wonderful day and Harry felt like he’d been on the verge of a fit for all of it. He didn’t want Malfoy to go but he didn’t feel like he had any standing to say so.  
  
Malfoy stood at his door and smirked. “Invite me inside, Potter,” he demanded finally, after they had stood and stared at one another for a few long moments.  
  
Harry smiled at him. “Would you like to come in, Malfoy?”  
  
Malfoy scrunched his mouth together and rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know,” he equivocated, elongating the words. “I have to be in Wels by half eight and I hardly have the figures ready fo—”  
  
Harry pulled him up the steps and whispered against his lips, “Just get inside, you giant prat.” They fell into the hall, kissing and grabbing at one another, Malfoy finally slamming Harry up against the wall.  
  
“VILE HALF-BLOOD—”  
  
Harry tugged at his hair angrily as Malfoy froze. “Oh bloody—Give me a mo’,” Harry gritted out over Mrs. Black’s screeching. He disentangled himself from Malfoy and stalked over to the portrait of Sirius’ mum. “If you don’t shut it, you ruddy old—” Harry began to threaten when Malfoy came up behind him and said in his most charming tone of voice, “Walburga Black. It’s an absolute pleasure.”  
  
The screeching fell off abruptly and Mrs. Black blinked at Malfoy curiously. She peered out her frame at him. “Do I know you, boy?”  
  
Malfoy shook his head, looking mournful. “Sadly, you passed before I had a chance to meet you, Auntie. I am Draco Lucius Malfoy, son of Narcissa Black. You would be my great aunt.”  
  
“Black blood in Grimmauld Place at last,” Mrs. Black said gleefully, her entire sallow face brightening. It had a miraculous effect on her disagreeable features, making her look like a kindly, elderly woman rather than a cruel old bat. She gave Malfoy a favorable once over. “Oh you’ve grown into a fine specimen. You’ve got Alphard’s jaw,” she told Malfoy proudly, blinking at him through the small oval lenses of the glasses that usually sat on the side table next to her. She pulled them off and wagged them at Malfoy, “though you seem to have gotten quite a few more smarts than my fool brother, lucky for you.”  
  
“Thank you, Auntie,” Malfoy responded respectfully, a polite smile tugging at his mouth. Harry stared at him in jaw-dropped amazement as he carried on an utterly pleasant conversation with a woman that Harry would have sworn didn’t have a volume below ‘shriek.’ Somehow, he convinced her to allow him to close the curtains so she could rest more easily and the two of them snuck past her slumbering portrait and up the stairs.  
  
“You’re brilliant,” Harry exclaimed when they finally reached his room.  
  
Malfoy grinned and wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist. He took the leaf Harry’d been holding in his sweaty fist all day with a quiet, “Let me.”  
  
“Still taking my things, I see,” Harry muttered with a mock-pout.  
  
Malfoy indulged him with another soft and beautiful smile, whispering, “Hush.” He placed the maple leaf down on Harry’s dresser, making sure the points laid flat before beginning to weave his magic around it. He handed the finished product to Harry.  
  
“It’s beautiful,” Harry marveled as he held the framed and pressed leaf in his hands. The wood was dark and rich and the loopy words underneath the frozen leaf were written in the same deep red color, _A New Beginning_.  
  
“Something to remember me by,” Malfoy said, sitting on the bed next to Harry.  
  
“Don’t say that,” Harry pleaded softly. Malfoy raised his eyebrows in question. “It makes it sound like you’re leaving for good,” Harry said around the lump in his throat.  
  
“Weird, isn’t it?” Malfoy said in a croaky sort of voice. Harry cut a sideways glance towards him before he looked away. “The way you don’t want to see me go and I don’t want to leave.” He pressed his face to Harry’s neck. “Traveling used to be my favorite bit of all this.”  
  
Harry laughed even though he felt far from amused. “Weird is one word for it.” Harry looked over at him desperately. “Stay, just tonight.”  
  
“I’ll have to leave at the arse crack of dawn, Potter.” But that wasn’t a ‘no’ and they both seemed to know what the answer would be no matter how much longer they spent on it.  
  
“I don’t care,” Harry insisted anyway.  
  
Malfoy stayed and, in the morning, Harry woke to the long forgotten feel of sunlight beating against the backs of his eyelids. He opened his eyes, grinning wider than he had in ages, light flooding his bedroom. He turned to see Malfoy getting dressed and the blond asked, “What?” curiously when Harry continued to grin at him.  
  
“Nothing,” Harry said, hiding his smile in his pillow. He turned just enough to watch Malfoy and he admitted suddenly, “I’m just glad you’re here.”  
  
Malfoy smirked at him. “I’m sure you are. You don’t have to convince your portraits to satisfy your pervy urges any longer,” he said, jutting his chin towards the portrait of Sirius’ great uncle Wolford who was standing proudly with his axe under his arm and a large fallen tree behind him, not a strip of clothing on.  


♕

  
  
Then Malfoy left him alone again, to his own bad habits, to his form of acting out that was both silent and entirely unnoticed. He fucked a truckload of men and he tried not to think.  
  
He came home and Mrs. Black demanded to see that attractive Black boy again. Harry tried to set her portrait on fire.  
  
After three weeks, Malfoy sent back a return owl that said he’d be home in two days’ time and Harry felt like he breathed for the first time since he left.  


♕

  
  
Hermione paused in making their tea and stared at Harry, something bright in her eyes. “What is it?”  
  
“What is what?” Harry responded, still grinning like an idiot. Malfoy would be back by this time the next day and Harry could barely contain himself. He couldn’t believe how much he’d missed the man.  
  
“Don’t give me that,” Hermione demanded, smiling at his smile. “You’re happy. It’s been… God, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you so happy.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry deflected, trying to hide his grin behind his hand.  
  
“You’re different,” Hermione marveled.  
  
“I’m not,” Harry insisted.  
  
Hermione shook her head. “You are,” she said with a bit of wonder. She walked over to his side and placed a hand on Harry’s forearm and squeezed. “Whatever it is that’s made you smile again, don’t let it go. Promise me, Harry,” she implored with wide brown eyes.  
  
Harry didn’t know what to say to that so he simply nodded, wondering if he could keep to it.  


♕

  
  
Lee scheduled him for two punters before Harry was set to meet Malfoy and, on top of that, today was his day to stop by and see Teddy. He was amazed that all he wanted to do was sit at home and stare at the clock, waiting out the seconds until Malfoy was by his side again.  
  
When did he fall so hard? The thought centered in his mind for a moment before Harry squashed it in fear and promptly pretended it had never happened. He cared for Malfoy and that was as far as things went, and as far as things _would_ go. Merlin.  
  
He spent his whole day going through the motions and encouraging the time to slip by faster as inexpert men fucked him. He wondered the entire time he was with Teddy what Malfoy would think of him and if he should introduce the two. After all, Malfoy was related to him somehow, wasn’t he? Teddy could use another relative and Harry could use another thing that connected him to Malfoy.  
  
By the end of the day, he felt half-mad and he was content to ignore every thought that had run through his head.  
  
Finally, it was the time Harry had so desperately yearned for. He couldn’t wait for Malfoy to come to him and he Apparated onto the blond’s doorstep and knocked repeatedly. Malfoy answered after two full minutes and it was clear that he had only just walked through the door himself. But he still looked just as pleased to see Harry as Harry was to see him.  
  
As they kissed hello, Harry breathed out against his lips, his eyelids fluttering, “Sometimes I feel as if you’re all that’s keeping me sane.”  


♕

  
  
Once Malfoy was back in town, it became harder and harder to go out and solicit punters. He also constantly had to bite his tongue each time he met with a regular to keep from telling them to count their days with him. He felt like he was living half his life with a roiling stomach and only in Malfoy’s presence did he feel like himself. And when Malfoy was gone, Harry felt like some vital piece of him had been ripped away.  
  
He began to spend his time without Malfoy studying the Unbreakable Vow and its effects while avoiding Lee’s owls and Floo calls. The tingle after the vow had been lingering longer and longer and taking on so many simply couldn’t be good for one’s health.  
  
All Harry found was that having such extreme power over so many different individuals was why his spells had gotten monumentally stronger while the responsibility of that many vows had also made his life force “stretch thinner” which was about the most obscure thing Harry had ever heard. What in the bloody hell did that mean? But the more books Harry read, the more confused the issue became and—not for the first time—Harry found himself wishing he could ask Hermione.  
  
He fantasized about releasing every punter he’d ever so much as said hello to from the vow and spending out the rest of his life with Malfoy in the country somewhere.  


♕

  
  
Malfoy had just returned from a four-day stint in Monaco and they’d already fucked twice. Harry dragged his fingers up and down Malfoy’s smooth back as he tested out cautiously, “Draco.”  
  
Malfoy grunted into the pillow and told him, “Don’t do that. It doesn’t sound like you’re talking to me.” Harry frowned at his back and Malfoy rolled over so he could look at him as though he’d sensed the expression. He punched up the pillow under his head and explained, “It’s like you’re trying to change what you know about me. I’m still the prat you grew up with.” He kissed Harry teasingly. “I’m not only that though.”  
  
“Malfoy,” Harry corrected.  
  
“Yes?” Malfoy asked with exaggerated pomposity and Harry pulled him closer while Malfoy whispered, “Yes, yes, yes.”  
  
Harry awoke, once again, to find that Malfoy wasn’t in bed with him. Malfoy was _never_ in bed with him after Harry fell asleep and it was beginning to bother the hell out of him. He found the blond downstairs and he blurted out angrily, “If you don’t want me here—” though he had only meant to ask the other man to come back up to bed.  
  
Malfoy was sitting on an ottoman in the dark living room and he shook his head, his nostrils flaring. He wrung his hands for a long moment. “With you, the war isn’t over.” He breathed out deeply through his nose. “I—”  
  
But he didn’t seem interested in going on and Harry demanded, “You what?”  
  
Malfoy heaved a sigh that was full-bodied. “I was in a relationship that tore me apart, broke me in ways I didn’t know I could be broken,” he said defiantly as though he was daring Harry to have some comment on it, to call him a liar or a whiner. Harry stayed utterly silent and Malfoy rubbed at his creased forehead. “I let myself fall in love. I gave someone the power to do that to me and I swore I never would again. Focusing on the pain of it the way I did, it made it easy but you – you remind me of why I made that sacrifice to begin with.” He looked up at Harry with a weak half-tilt of his mouth that was probably meant to be a smile. “You embody all the good of what trusting another person can be.”  
  
Harry wrapped his hands around his opposite arms. “And now you don’t know if you should trust me?” Harry guessed. “Don’t,” he said suddenly. He wasn’t the man that deserved Malfoy’s trust, he was just as bad as this other bloke. He realized that Malfoy required some sort of explanation. “You deserve better than a bitter hero, Malfoy,” he echoed Malfoy’s words back to him.  
  
“Maybe,” Malfoy said, and this time the smile actually happened, feeble though it was. “But that happens to be all I want.”  
  
He stood to wrap Harry in his arms and Harry backed up, knocking into the mantle behind him. He turned to steady the statue of a running crup he’d nearly knocked over and he caught sight of the photo behind it.  
  
“It was Dean who broke you,” he breathed out in disbelief. Dean Thomas had his arms framing Malfoy’s body and his eyes kept cutting between staring out the frame and staring at Malfoy like he was the only other person in the world. Malfoy was grinning so widely it must have hurt his cheeks and he looked so much younger than he did now, though this couldn’t have been taken more than a year or two ago. He had let himself relax completely against Dean’s body and there was a joy in his eyes that Harry had never seen there before.  
  
Harry’s sudden jealousy was almost crippling. There was a hand-written inscription in a tidy scrawl underneath the photo. “The way back,” Harry read aloud.  
  
Malfoy let out a resigned breath just behind him and admitted, “It’s come to mean something else over time.” Harry turned only slightly to show Malfoy had his attention. “I wrote that when… when I couldn’t look at him, when crawling into our bed felt like it was suffocating me slowly.” He placed his thumb on the edge of the frame before he snatched it away. “I wanted a way back to the people we were when we took that picture.”  
  
Harry swallowed. “And now?” he asked cautiously.  
  
“I want a way back to the happiness I felt there. I used to think the answer was to find some way to forgive him. I thought he was the only other person out there who could make me feel that way.”  
  
Harry watched Malfoy’s reflection in the glass and the way Malfoy was looking at him as he said the last made Harry both giddy and terrified. He wanted to be everything Malfoy thought he could be but he was losing sight of what he was actually capable of and what he showed to Malfoy.  
  
Malfoy kissed his neck softly, so soft that Harry almost wasn’t sure he felt it. He breathed lightly, “I’m not so convinced of that anymore.”  
  
Harry’s stomach lurched.  


♕

  
  
It didn’t take Harry much longer to figure out that he was killing himself slowly each time he left Malfoy’s side to hop into another bed. He didn’t want that life anymore but he was terrified of what he’d be admitting by giving it up, as if by putting all his eggs in one basket he was crippling himself somehow. But the more Malfoy left and returned, the more Harry realized he didn’t like his life without the other man in it and he finally made the decision to speak to Lee.  
  
That night he clung to Malfoy and told him over and over again, “I just want to be with you. Just you.”  
  
Malfoy answered, half asleep and voice muzzy, “I don’t remember ever telling you you couldn’t be.”  
  
Harry rolled over onto his side and kissed the underside of Malfoy’s chin. “Why do you want me?” His voice was warbling and he was close to losing it entirely.  
  
Malfoy blinked his eyes open and brushed the hair back from Harry’s face. “Who wouldn’t want you?” he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
And Harry gave Malfoy another little piece of his heart at that answer. He thought Malfoy had a lot more than he did now.  


♕

  
  
He could hardly wait till morning to get to Lee’s and it was unbearably early when he finally knocked on the man’s door. It took almost ten minutes for Lee to answer.  
  
His eyes widened in surprise but Harry didn’t have the time for it and he pushed his way inside, insisting, “I can’t do this anymore.”  
  
Lee was still rubbing at his eyes. “Whaddya mean?” His voice was sticky with sleep.  
  
Harry paced up and down his flat. “The clients, the sex, the money, I don’t want any of it anymore,” he told him, wringing his hair with nervous hands. “I only want—I just want Malfoy.” It was the first time he had said the words aloud and it was unbelievably freeing.  
  
Lee’s brain seemed to shake off the cobwebs and he teased with a smirk, “Your best client then?”  
  
Harry smiled back tentatively. “Malfoy’s not a client. He’s… something more, something I won’t even pretend I understand.” He felt like he was on a sugar high and all he wanted was to see Malfoy again, without any of the crushing guilt holding him back any longer.  
  
Lee’s dark brows drew together uncertainly. “You’re saying I should stop charging him for it then?”  
  
Harry froze. “What?” The question came out sharp and Harry could only hope this was a joke he didn’t understand.  
  
“Well,” Lee started uneasily, shrugging his shoulders. “He’s been paying for it just like the rest of them.”  
  
Horror and fury were vying for dominance as Harry’s voice went deadly. “You’re lying!”  
  
Lee backed away slightly, hands in the air. “I wish I was, mate, but every single time you met, I billed him.” Harry couldn’t quite form the words he wanted to say and Lee added quickly, “Sorry, mate, but I didn’t know you wanted it off the books.”  
  
Fury was about to explode from him before the truth set in and Harry deflated completely, feeling nothing but a raging emptiness building inside of him. “You’re sure he knew?” he croaked desperately.  
  
“I imagine he would’ve asked about the charges by now if he didn’t, yeah?” Lee tried neutrally.  
  
“Yeah,” Harry put in perfunctorily, his entire body feeling numb.  


♕

  
  
Harry paced up and down Malfoy’s flat but he found himself unable to wait for that lying bastard to come to him and he remembered Malfoy telling him about the _Dragonstein Café_ he favored so much. Harry snatched up his wand and Apparated. He landed so hard that he created a crack in the pavement. He spotted the silver-blond hair instantly.  
  
Malfoy was sitting with Pansy and they were both laughing and Harry realized with a sick feeling that they were probably talking about him, pathetic Harry Potter and his boundless love for his daddy Death Eater. He bit his lip hard to keep his emotions in check. Parkinson spotted him first and Malfoy couldn’t quite turn around in time to see what she was looking at before Harry was standing at the side of their table.  
  
He sneered at Malfoy, trying not to focus on how much he’d come to love the features on that betraying face. “Had a good laugh, did you?”  
  
Malfoy started to stand, a perfect portrait of concern. “Potter, what’s happened? Are you—”  
  
“Don’t you dare pretend like you give a damn about me, Malfoy!” he screamed before he could stop himself. Apparently going straight for ‘barmy, jilted lover’ before even trying for a calm confrontation. And it was too late to stop himself now. “All this time you knew! Caring about me was just some big act.” His eyes burned, saying it out loud almost made it worse somehow.  
  
Malfoy was shaking his head almost nonstop. “Potter, I don’t understand. I do care—”  
  
Harry saw red and he refused to let Malfoy ever try to trick him with those words. “Don’t play dumb with me! Did you enjoy making Harry Potter fall in love with you, twisting your little whore into panting after you?” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, probably looking disgusting and weak but not caring. “You must have loved it, bringing me to my knees. The only thing I don’t understand is why you kept paying for it when you knew I was gagging for you. Hell, I would’ve paid _you_ if you’d asked.”  
  
Malfoy sank back into his seat slowly from his half-standing position, all the animation bleeding away from his face. His grey eyes were hooded as he repeated, “Paying for it?” in a cold, distant tone.  
  
Harry sniffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh please, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”  
  
Harry startled as Parkinson had been so quiet up to this point that he had almost forgotten she was there. “Potter, you gigantic prat,” she snapped, her expression pained as her eyes lingered on Harry’s, “he didn’t know. I was the one footing the bill.”  
  
“What, but…” Harry’s eyes widened in immediate denial when he remembered. He’d been so caught up in how different it’d been with Malfoy that it had slipped his mind entirely to tell Lee that it was actually Parkinson who’d paid him.  
  
He could hear Lee’s voice inside his head saying, _“Malfoy?_ Draco _Malfoy paid you for sex?”_ God, he’d said yes and Lee had kept billing what he thought was Malfoy each time Harry had told him they’d met.  
  
Fuck.  
  
Malfoy’s voice was tightly controlled but still flecked with ice when Harry heard him inquire from what seemed like very far away, “Pansy. What bill?”  
  
Parkinson swallowed before gazing up at Malfoy defiantly. She jutted out her chin and accused, “You were dying right in front of me, Draco, and you wanted me to just sit back and watch it happen. Every night you ripped yourself to shreds, blaming yourself for that Gryffindor prick getting his leg over and I couldn’t watch you go through it anymore.” She looked away and heaved a sharp breath. “I ran into Macmillan at the _Pluck and Feather_ and he said he’d had a whore you’d love.” Malfoy’s gaze cut to Harry’s and he could see the jealousy and pain in those grey eyes. “He never gave a name but when Potter showed up, I knew better than to be disappointed.” She threw a disappointed glance over in Harry’s direction, contradicting her words. “I had no idea you’d keep seeing him but you were _happy_ , Draco, and I’d pay any amount of money to keep you that way.”  
  
Malfoy didn’t seem to know where to start and eventually his eyes flicked to Harry’s. “You were being paid to fuck me?” It was half-question and half-statement and Harry could tell that all of Malfoy wanted him to deny it.  
  
He only wished he could.  
  
“Malfoy—” Harry croaked, feeling so, so broken.  
  
Malfoy stood and backed away from table, anguish hovering over the sheen of his eyes. “I’m pleased you were so well compensated for the time you invested, it must have been agony for you.” His voice shook but Harry didn’t know whether it was in anger or hurt. Or both.  
  
“It wasn’t like that, I thought—” he jumped in.  
  
“Was it payback?” Malfoy said suddenly, his forehead furrowed and his mouth turned down in a warbling frown. “Did you just want to make a fool out of me after all this time?”  
  
“What?” The thought had never even occurred to Harry and, despite everything, Harry was hurt by the accusation. “Malfoy, no,” he defended vehemently.  
  
Malfoy laughed a little hysterically, his eyes not quite blinking. “Oh, come on, it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? I was a prick to you in school, I’m sure you and Weasley had quite the laugh at my expense.” His knuckles were white on the back of his chair and he congratulated lowly, a smile that wouldn’t quite stay bending his lips, “Well played, Potter. I suppose you’ve won that game of yours then.”  
  
“No, I didn’t mean—” Harry tried desperately, actually _feeling_ Malfoy slipping through his fingers.  
  
Malfoy’s eyes flashed and he shook his head, cutting Harry off. His gaze was like ice as he hissed, “If you’ll excuse me, I’d rather not continue draining Pansy’s vault in order to be lied to by a _whore_.”  


♕

  
  
Harry explained the whole sad affair to Lee who looked more somber than Harry had ever seen him by the time he finished, like he was going through the same anguish Harry was.  
  
“I’m quitting it, all of it.”  
  
“Even if he doesn’t take you back?” Lee asked in a very small voice as though to reinforce that he wasn’t challenging Harry’s decision, only curious about it.  
  
“He’ll never even consider it unless I… And maybe he won’t consider it now but a few years down the road, if he’s not married or seeing anyone, maybe then we could… try again.”  
  
Lee watched him with bright eyes. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever head.”  
  
Harry’s breath hitched on a sob. “Yeah,” he chuckled with a sniff.  


♕

  
  
Harry tried to give Malfoy time. He waited a week before he owled him and, when that wasn’t returned, he sent out three more letters, explaining he hadn’t known he was being paid, how he’d hoped he wasn’t and begging Malfoy’s forgiveness. Malfoy never did respond. Everything in him was shriveling to nothing without Malfoy’s touch and, after two and a half weeks of unrelenting silence, Harry decided he could wait no longer.  
  
He followed Malfoy to a little café on Charrington and pulled out the seat across from him so quickly that he couldn’t even protest. “I thought you knew,” Harry said bluntly, thinking maybe unflinching honesty would make Malfoy talk to him.  
  
Malfoy smirked but his eyes were just as dead now as they had been the last time Harry had seen him. They didn’t quite meet Harry’s own either. “And how much am I being charged for this little powwow?” He laughed hoarsely. “Just be sure to send the bill to me this time, eh?”  
  
He started to stand and Harry reached out for his hand, begging, “Malfoy, please don’t leave.”  
  
“You have no idea, do you?” Malfoy was staring down at the table, his mouth tight and his eyes half in shadow. “After Dean—I thought we’d grow old together and then I found out that I never even knew him. You can’t imagine how—And then you.” He shook his head and scoffed. “We’d always been after each other and I thought maybe we could… have something, that maybe that meant something. It seems I’m destined to be second best to every man I fall for.”  
  
Harry felt himself starting to tear up and he gripped Malfoy tighter. “Malfoy, please wait, you’re not second best. I—” Fuck, fuck, fuck, had he said ‘fall for’?  
  
Malfoy shook him off and he seemed completely defenseless as he told him, “There’s nothing more to say, Potter. Move on to your next trick. If you’ve any heart at all you’ll let me walk away.”  
  
Harry did. He was never quite sure if he’d made the right decision.  


♕

  
  
Harry watched him most of the night before he approached Malfoy. They were standing in an art gallery, large canvases hulking down on them that Harry couldn’t even pretend to understand. He imagined coming here with Malfoy, their shoulders touching while the blond explained why this was post-modern rubbish and that was artistic genius.  
  
He let Malfoy see him before he walked over. Malfoy paled but he held his ground and Harry hung his head and asked softly when he finally reached him, “What will it take for you to forgive me? Whatever it is, I’ll do it. You have to know that, I’d do anything you asked of me.”  
  
Malfoy smiled but it was thin and looked so easily breakable. “You’re quite sure of yourself, aren’t you?”  
  
“Sorry?” Harry said, not understanding.  
  
“Indeed you are.” Malfoy’s gaze was cutting for all of a moment before it burned out completely. “There’s nothing left of us, Potter.” He looked weary and there were dark circles under his eyes as he said without bite, “I don’t want anything from you. I don’t want to forgive you, I don’t even want to yell at you, there’s nothing I want anymore when it comes to you.”  
  
He turned away and, not looking at Harry, he said weakly, “Don’t you have Galleons waiting on a dresser for you somewhere?”  


♕

  
  
The next time Harry saw him, he decided talking had gotten them nowhere and he simply grabbed Malfoy by the back of his neck and pulled him down onto his lips. The twist of his mouth was utterly familiar and, for a moment, Harry’s heart ached at the feel of it. At least until Malfoy pushed him off and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “No—fu—you don’t just get to _do_ that!” Malfoy gritted out, his eyes glossy and his fists trembling.  
  
Harry felt like crying. He _knew_ Malfoy still felt something for him, that kiss had more than proved it. “What do you want me to do then?” he begged.  
  
Malfoy turned away from him. “Leave me alone,” he said quietly before closing the door of his flat in Harry’s face.  
  
Harry rested his forehead against the dark wood and admitted as his breath came in short, huffy pants, “I don’t think I can.”  


♕

  
  
Hermione found him upstairs, curled up on the floor of his room with dry eyes and a sharp pain in his chest. Mrs. Black had the decency not to say a fucking word. “Harry,” she called softly from his doorway.  
  
Harry didn’t even look at her.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“I blew it,” Harry croaked. “I had everything I wanted and I lost it.”  
  
Hermione walked gingerly into the room and sat at his back, smoothing her hand consolingly over the curve of his spine. “I’m sorry about Malfoy, Harry.”  
  
Harry’s head whipped around, half-convinced that Hermione was a Legilimens and that was how she always seemed to know everything. “How did you—”  
  
“Lee, of course. Lee’s told me everything right along.” The concession was a big one and it was obviously her attempt to give him something now that he had nothing.  
  
“I think I loved him, Hermione,” Harry told his knees, his eyes beginning to water.  
  
“He’s not gone forever,” she assured, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind his ear.  
  
Harry shook his head. “He won’t listen to me and I don’t think he _can_ forgive me. I just—I was afraid if I quit, if I admitted I needed him, I would give him all my power.” Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Seems stupid now as he had it anyway, didn’t he?”  
  
“Harry,” Hermione said softly, “it’s not over. The way you and Malfoy were after each other in school, I don’t believe it could be so easy. You just have to try again.”  
  
Harry sniffed and turned his puffy face toward her. “You don’t care that it’s Malfoy?”  
  
Her eyes were bright and she said weakly, “Harry, all you’ve wanted to do is stare at the cracks in the path since the war ended. You’ve wanted to stamp your feet and point that out as evidence that everything is just as horrible as you’ve always imagined.” She lifted his chin so they were eye to eye. “You’ve been numb, only believing the worst, and finally it was like you saw the potential the world had to offer you. You realized the path may be broken and ugly but there was a good chance that it led to something brilliant. If it’s taken Malfoy for you to see that, then you can’t let him go.”  
  
Harry blinked away the wetness in his eyes. “I don’t know I have much choice.”  
  
Hermione gave him a watery smile. “You always have a choice.”  


♕

  
  
Harry knocked on Malfoy’s door. When Malfoy answered it, Harry stood there, thinner, pitiful and desperate. Malfoy turned around, leaving the door wide and Harry followed him inside, closing the door quietly behind himself. He twiddled his thumbs, his heavy robes hanging off his bony shoulders. “I never meant to hurt you,” he told his shoes in a soft voice.  
  
Malfoy’s own was cool and free of blame. “And I never meant to attempt a relationship with a rent boy,” he said simply.  
  
Harry scrubbed at his face, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “I didn’t know I was being paid,” he told the other man, imploring Malfoy to believe him with wide eyes. “I thought it was as real as you did.”  
  
Malfoy froze with his hand on the kettle and Harry knew it was surprise that stopped him. Harry’s lips twisted bitterly, so he hadn’t read the letters then. Harry watched as Malfoy looked at him and the mask he’d worn since that horrid day in the café began to crack. He _wanted_ to believe Harry, he was just looking for a reason to forgive him. Harry felt like jumping for joy. He could practically see Malfoy weighing his thoughts carefully as he said, slowly and cautiously, “But you were still seeing other men while I was with you.”  
  
It was a statement but it was said like a question, like Malfoy was begging him to make the words untrue and, if Harry only did that, then Malfoy would forgive all his trespasses. Harry tried to find a way to make that a possibility while sticking to the truth. His shoulders slumped and he admitted, “Yes, but—” knowing he’d just lost what may very well have been his only chance.  
  
And it _was_ gone, just like that, as though the mask had never broken and Harry felt like slamming his fists into the plaster over and over again in defeat.  
  
Malfoy shook his head and his voice was quiet, as though he’d taken the loss as hard as Harry. “What could you possibly say to justify that?” He snorted weakly, his fingers tightening on the arm of his mug. “I know we never discussed exclusivity but I can guarantee that you knew I wouldn’t be fine with you fucking half of England while you were in my bed.” He met Harry’s eyes for the first time in a long time. “For better or worse, I trusted you, Potter. That’s not an everyday occurrence for me.”  
  
“Malfoy, I’m sorry,” Harry said, his voice strained with the absolute truth of the words. “You can’t believe how sorry I am but I never _wanted_ to be with anyone else. It was only ever you.”  
  
Malfoy’s face was ashen and he didn’t seem to know how to respond. He set his cup down lightly. “You weren’t forced into it, you _chose_ whoring, Potter. And you chose it over me.” There was a terrifying moment as he said the words when it looked as if he were holding himself together with nothing more than Spellotape and Elmer’s glue.  
  
Harry’s shoulders shook and he wagged his head back and forth desperately. “I didn’t. I gave it up. It’s just you, I think it’s always been just you and I didn’t want to know it.” He laughed shortly. “I think that’s why I could never leave you be, why when you stopped paying attention to me in sixth year I followed you about non-stop. I felt half-mad that whole year and I think it’s because I didn’t have you.” He cut his eyes away from Malfoy’s and shrugged. “I certainly feel a bit more than half-mad now.”  
  
Malfoy’s fingers were shaking and he quickly hid them beneath the counter with a scowl. His eyes looked haunted. “Isn’t it a whore’s job to be good with his mouth?” he said but the words sounded shaky rather than cutting, as though he didn’t really want to be saying them.  
  
Harry watched this man he felt more for than he ever had for anyone else before. He saw how devastated and broken he looked and guilt washed over him in waves. “You’re the only man I want,” Harry said quietly, “but I know what I’ve done. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness but I hope for it every day.” Harry turned away, realizing he’d never even managed to step off the mat by the door and he reached for the handle. “I won’t keep bothering you but, I want you to know, I would rather die than hurt you again.”  
  
Harry left without stealing even another glance at Malfoy and he hoped he was doing the right thing.  


♕

  
  
“Potter,” screeched up to his landing and Harry’s immediate thought was of Mrs. Black but she had been suspiciously quiet since Malfoy’s departure. He rubbed at his eyes as footsteps began to stomp up his stairs. His door flew open and Parkinson stood framed in the entryway. “Get up, you idiot.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Get _up_ ,” she demanded, throwing clothes from the floor at him.  
  
Harry picked up one of the shirts and struggled into it obediently. He tried to shove his head through one of the armholes and he realized he probably looked like he’d never dressed himself before. “Where’s the fire, Parkinson?” he grumbled, embarrassed.  
  
“Draco’s going to Uppsala, for good. How’s that for fire?” she said with a scowl, her impatience infecting Harry too.  
  
Harry shot up in bed. “What? But, he can’t!”  
  
“Precisely,” Parkinson smacked, rolling her eyes.  
  
“Why would he—”  
  
“Gringotts offered him the position and, because of _you_ ,” she accused, “he jumped at it.”  
  
“I’m betting he’s not speaking to you either,” Harry muttered, trying to deflect the mountain of guilt he felt.  
  
He felt even worse when Pansy’s eyes began to water and she said stuffily, “No, he isn’t.” She turned away and waited for him in the foyer while he dressed and brushed his teeth. He tore down the stairs and she performed a Shaving charm on his face and something on his head that made his hair look artfully tousled. “Make him stay,” she commanded resolutely.  
  
Harry realized for the first time: “How?” Malfoy was hardly going to listen to him.  
  
“He loves you,” she said bluntly and Harry’s stomach fluttered. “He wants to stay, he just needs you to convince him to.”  
  
Harry nodded stoutly, his deep swallow betraying his lack of confidence, and he Apparated to the Ministry, racing up to the International Portkey queue. Malfoy was fourth in line.  
  
“Running out on me then, eh?” Harry said with feigned cheekiness, winded and feeling like he might collapse at any moment.  
  
Malfoy gripped his hand tighter around the handle of his luggage. He pursed his lips and kept his gaze straight ahead. “I’ve learned from the best.”  
  
“I don’t want you to leave,” Harry said softly, lowering his voice in part because of all the stares they were garnering. “I don’t think I’ve quite finished groveling and Sweden’s a bit of a trip,” he tried with a wobbly smile.  
  
Malfoy finally looked at him, seeming torn. “I’m not just punishing you, Potter,” he said with a shake of his head, “I honestly don’t know if I can forgive you.” The line moved forward and Harry swallowed a little harder. “I tried with Dean and we spent three months together letting the wounds fester. When we finally split there was so much resentment and hate we could have drowned in it.” His eyes cut away from Harry to the other side of the room and he admitted quietly, “I don’t want that for us.”  
  
“Neither do I,” Harry said, placing his hand over the death grip Malfoy had on his bag. “But we’re not you and Dean.”  
  
Malfoy wouldn’t look at him and the line moved forward a second time.  
  
“Malfoy,” Harry demanded and the blond turned to look at him reluctantly. Harry brushed his cheek softly. “I love you.”  
  
The line moved again and then it was Malfoy’s turn.  
  
“Don’t go, not now,” Harry said weakly, desperation making him sound hoarse. If Malfoy left now then there was no fixing things. Harry didn’t know much but he knew that. This wasn’t something you let languish. You either repaired it or it stayed broken. Forever. Harry couldn’t stand the thought that it might remain wrecked, that he could be responsible for shattering Malfoy a second time. He didn’t want to be that kind of man.  
  
Malfoy’s gaze was shadowed and his lips pressed together hard. It seemed as if they were the only dam against the flood of emotion that was pinching his eyes. He wasn’t looking at Harry because it didn’t seem as if he _could_. His hand tightened and loosened on the Portkey in a way that made it impossible to tell which came first.  
  
Harry held his breath.

**Author's Note:**

> * Credit to Dana Adam Shapiro, author of _The Every Boy_ ; original line: "Telling the truth is so much easier. Every lie requires a lifetime of maintenance." [return to text]


End file.
